


i'll keep my eyes wide open

by rumpledlinen



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 19:23:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rumpledlinen/pseuds/rumpledlinen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He records his song in secret and doesn’t tell any of the boys about it. He’s got a copy and Sam’s got a copy but that’s it; he burns it onto his laptop and shoves the CD (still in its case) in between pages of a book he’s sure he’ll never read, something Zayn shoved at him once and he never got around to. </p><p>It feels like a promise to himself, having it there; like one day he’s going to sing it just for Louis, tell him how he feels and bare his soul out there. </p><p> </p><p>or: Louis breaks up with Eleanor, and he and Harry find their way to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll keep my eyes wide open

**Author's Note:**

  * For [delightfulalot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/delightfulalot/gifts).



> for my darling friend samantha on her birthday! (okay, three days late (which i'm still sorry for) but ostensibly for her birthday. she asked for a happily/strong fic but then it became about don't let me go? i'm sorry, babe. uh. i will eventually write the fic about their complementary songs (because a complement is a thing that completes). 
> 
> this was supposed to be straight-up fluff and then angst happened? because i wanted to give eleanor a proper send-off and then feelings happened. i'm sorry about that. there's a happy ending, though!
> 
> disclaimer: this isn't real, not least because eleanor and louis are still together. also the timeline is hella fucked up, sorry about that. title from _don't let me go_. 
> 
>  
> 
> i'm also on tumblr at guillotineheart, and twitter at doinwhatwedo if you want to, i dunno, hit me up there.

Louis drops into Harry’s lap at the end of their tour. “So Eleanor and I broke up,” he says.

Harry’s fingers still on his phone and he tosses it to the side, pulling Louis in for a cuddle. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss against his forehead.

Louis snuggles up next to him. Harry’s not sure, but he thinks he hears a sniffle. “S’okay,” he says, voice suspiciously deep. “I—it was mutual.”

Harry nods, resting his chin on top of Louis’ head. “Want to get drunk?” he asks. He’s never seen Louis go through a breakup like this; Hannah was bad but he dated El for so much _longer_. Harry was half planning their wedding, enough alcohol to black out so his chest wouldn't ache so much.

Louis shrugs, sitting up and picking at a thread in his sweatpants. “I dunno,” he starts. His eyes are definitely rimmed with red.

Harry pulls him into a proper hug, nearly jostling the both of them off the couch in the process. “Whatever you want,” he says, fingers digging into Louis’ shoulders, “I’m here for you. Okay? I love you, a lot. You don’t have to talk about it but you can, if you want, is all I’m saying.”

Louis’ shoulders are definitely shaking, but he nods. When he presses his nose against Harry’s shoulder, it’s wet. Harry can feel his little hitches of breath every couple of seconds.

“I just,” he says, and “I thought,” and “she was—” but he doesn’t get a full sentence out, just shakes his head and holds Harry tighter.

They sit there for a long time, enough that they move to proper cuddling, Harry holding Louis tight around the middle with his back pressed to Louis’ front, nosing at his ear. “You want to be cheered up?” he asks, low.

Louis breathes out and turns onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. Even with his eyes all puffy and snot all around his nose he’s still beautiful and Harry still wants to kiss him—but no, this is about _Louis_. Harry closes his eyes, just a second, and tries to channel the best friend he knows he can be.

Louis doesn’t look away from the ceiling but laces their fingers together. “Just sucks,” he says, voice shot like it does when he tries to hit too many high notes during a show, when he drinks too much and shouts at Harry from wherever he is, when he gets loud and bounces off the walls and loses at Mario Kart. But now, now it’s softer and sadder, a loose kind of gruffness that Harry never wants to hear again.

“Let’s go swimming,” he says, nosing at Louis’ neck.

Louis laughs, pushes him away but not hard. “The pool’s closed.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “What are they going to do, kick us out?” he asks, sitting up and jostling Louis in the process.

Louis lets out a long-suffering sigh but he’s grinning, the kind of grin that only happens when someone’s achingly sad but trying to not be. “I’ve taught you well, Styles,” he says. “Soon the student will be the master, and then what’ll be of me?”

Harry shrugs, wrinkling his nose and standing up to put his jeans back on. “Nah, babe, I’ll never be better than you,” he says with a wink and a shimmy (the shimmy is mostly for his jeans to _come back on_ , but it makes Louis laugh, so).

Louis laces their fingers together and they run down to the ground floor pool, sneaking about like spies. It’s mercifully not locked and they jump in in just their pants, giggling quietly.

Louis floats on his back, staring up at the ceiling. “She said it was too hard,” he says.

Harry, who’s holding onto the side and just hanging out, frowns. “What do you mean?”

“She said—” Louis smiles, kicks himself faster, his arms still floating above his head. “Said it was too hard to be with me and that it wasn’t worth it. All the hate, all the paps.” He swims over to Harry, tucks his head into his shoulder again, cold fingers on his waist. “Can’t blame her.”

Harry kisses the top of his head. He tastes like chlorine. “She wasn’t the one for you, then,” he says.

Louis snorts. “Don’t believe in soulmates, Haz.”

“I do,” he says, reaching out to thumb at Louis’ cheek. “And you’ll find her. Or him, I s’pose.”

Louis smiles, but it’s still fragile.

Harry narrows his eyes and kicks off, letting himself get a stroke ahead before turning around. “Race you to the other side,” he taunts.

Louis lets out a bark of a laugh and swims past.

Harry loses, but not for lack of trying.

 

 

When they get back upstairs, damp but not dripping anymore, Louis nudges Harry’s hip with his and smiles. “Thanks,” he says. It doesn’t seem fake this time. He turns to go to his room.

“Hey,” Harry says, keycard in hand. He’s whispering but it still sounds too loud in the hallway. “Don’t you want to come to mine?”

Louis swallows and turns around. “Thought you’d be sick of my moping,” he says.

Harry rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “You’re an idiot,” he says, but fondly enough that Louis doesn’t take it personally. “Come on.”

They fall asleep the same way they were on the couch, Harry’s arm wrapped around Louis’ waist. It’s not something they’ve done in a while; Harry likes to stay up later now while Louis still crashes early, exhausted from a day of being Louis Tomlinson.

It’s been tense for a while now; they haven’t been so easy with their affection lately. Louis has been worried about Eleanor for a while; the breakup wasn’t really a surprise.

Harry thinks he could get used to this, though; thinks that maybe this’ll mean things are less tense between them, if they can fall back into old patterns this easily.

Louis snuffles in his sleep and presses a sleepy kiss to Harry’s hand.

Harry smiles against Louis’ neck and settles into sleep.

 

 

The next two weeks are strange. They’ve decided to keep it a secret; Eleanor wants to be able to move on in peace and Louis does, too.

He clings to Harry—all of the boys, but Harry most of all, always pressed against his side. He laughs most of all when he’s with Harry, gets sad if he’s by himself for too long. Which is a normal part of the process, but Harry doesn’t ever want to see that sad, serious look on his face again.

So he does stupid things like start food fights with the rest of the boys and replace shampoo with mayonnaise and Louis starts to smile.

(Interspersed there are the details—

“Why wasn’t I enough?” Louis asks on their fifth night together, propped up on one arm and staring down at the blanket. “Like—she didn’t love me _enough_.” He laughs, a hollow sound. “I loved her enough, you know?”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, voice caught in his throat. _I loved her enough_ , and he’s trying really hard to separate friend Harry from Harry who wants to shag Louis and marry him and things—but it’s hard, sometimes.

Louis laughs again, turning away and sitting up. “Think I’m gonna go down to the gym,” he says.

Harry frowns, reaching out for him and coming up with nothing, Louis twisting away at the last second. “Lou—”

“I just need some space, all right?” Louis asks, half-turning to him. He swallows. “I’m gonna sleep in my own room tonight, too,” he says.

“All right,” Harry says, small, and watches Louis leave.

 

 

Things are horrible, to varying degrees based on the day. Louis stays far away, clings to Niall and then Liam and then Zayn; everyone but Harry, it seems.

Harry doesn’t try to argue with him. They’ve done this before, had little moments where everything was too much and too intense, but—never when one of them is hurting like this, never without at least a start of an explanation.

They’re still them at shows, of course, and maybe Harry throws himself into it more than he would have; if he touches Louis more, tries to twist a nipple or slap his bum, it’s not on purpose, necessarily. It’s just hard, to go from having all of Louis to having none of him, and he’ll take whatever he can get.

When the news gets out, it's horrible. Louis locks himself away on the bus, doesn't look at Twitter at all (mainly because Niall's stolen his phone). On the third night, Harry follows him into his bunk and lies down with him, doesn't say anything.

Louis clings to him, shoulders shaking with silent tears. 

 

 

Harry realized he was in love with Louis during the fourth week of live shows. He’d looked at him and his heart did a funny thing, and he thought _oh_. He kissed Louis that weekend, got drunk on shit wine and kissed him hard enough that it probably hurt. 

Louis laughed and grabbed at Harry’s waist, bit his lip and pushed him away.

Harry thinks about it, sometimes, and he wishes he were braver, wishes he’d said something back then; but now, now it’s been three years, an impossible length of time and an impossible number of—of _things_. He can’t change them now.

(Maybe he’s a coward. He’s accepted it.)

 

 

He starts writing a few days later, a simple little thing. _Don’t let me go_ , he thinks, and nods his head to the beat only he can hear.  _'Cause I'm tired of feeling alone_ , and he's thinking of Louis.

It’s about Louis as much as it isn’t. It’s about them, about what he wishes they could be, about what he wants. It's about Louis in all the ways Harry wants him (but only if Louis wants it too; he thinks some days that he might, the way he looks at him).

He doesn’t tell any of the boys. He keeps it to himself, plays it on the bus and in hotel rooms, softly on the guitar he’s stolen from Niall and has no idea how to play (it’s just to get pitch).

He fantasizes about showing Louis, but Louis—he’s avoiding him, on and off stage, and he can’t. It wouldn’t fix anything if he did, he has to remind himself of that.

 

 

The day after Louis cries, he comes back.

Harry’s sitting on the couch, scrolling through Twitter, when Louis slides under his arm. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. "For the way I've been acting."

Harry looks at him, surprised, and smiles. He pulls Lou closer and kisses the top of his head, careful and calm. “It’s okay, babe,” he says.

Louis shakes his head, curls closer like a cat. “It’s not. I've been a shit friend.” He pulls back, reaches out to trace the planes of Harry’s face.

Harry’s stomach flips and he pulls away, shaking his head and closing his eyes for just a second. “Uh,” he says, clears his throat. “I.” He sits up, moves his arm from around Louis’ shoulder. “Are you okay, then?”

Louis shrugs. “Guess so,” he says. He clears his throat. "I," he starts, but shakes his head, quick. "Never mind," he murmurs to Harry's questioning glance. He smiles. "Want to get drunk and prank Niall?"

Harry laughs. "Of course."

(Niall ends up with temporary tattoos all over his arms and for a hilarious moment he thinks they're real. Louis holds Harry's arm in a tight grip, laughing so hard he nearly falls over. It's worth it, even when Niall hits them both upside the head, for the way Louis grins at him, tears in his eyes and no sadness there.)

 

 

Harry records his song in secret and doesn’t tell any of the boys about it. He’s got a copy and Sam’s got a copy but that’s it; he burns it onto his laptop and shoves the CD (still in its case) in between pages of a book he’s sure he’ll never read, something Zayn shoved at him once and he never got around to.

It feels like a promise to himself, having it there; like one day he’s going to sing it just for Louis, tell him how he feels and bare his soul out there.

 

 

Eleanor texts him a couple days later, a _take care of him will you? x_ that he doesn’t respond to with more than a few emojis. She gets the picture, he figures. They’ve been friends for years, too, but he understands her wanting to move on, lead a somewhat normal life. He idly wonders if they'll still keep in touch.

He doesn’t tell Louis, but he’s more careful around him, gives him more hugs and kisses and goes along with his whims more. If Louis notices, he doesn’t say anything.

 

 

Harry’s sitting in the bath on a Tuesday evening, fucking around on his laptop (Grimmy’s sent him—something, something about him and a girl that he laughs a little bit at because there aren’t even _pictures_ this time, honestly, The Daily Mail’s getting lazy). Louis knocks. Harry knows it’s him because he does _his_ knock, one-two, one-two-three.

He pokes his head in. He’s not got a shirt on, just trousers that Harry’s pretty sure originally belonged to Zayn. “Mind if I sit with you?” he asks.

Harry smiles, and nods, gesturing outward. “Feel free,” he murmurs, letting his voice get lazy and slow and soft.

Louis sits on the edge of the tub, feet flat on the floor. “I’m not upset about Eleanor,” he says.

Harry frowns, and sits up a little bit, nods. “That’s good,” he says.

Louis looks at him from under his fringe. “Yeah?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Of course, idiot,” he says, but there’s a smile at the corners of his mouth that he can’t help. “It’s fine to not be in love with her anymore. S’what she wants, yeah? She seems happy enough.”

He gets a laugh, and a nod. Louis scoots over, runs his fingers through Harry’s hair almost lazily. “You’re all right, Curly,” he says, in a voice no louder than a murmur.

Harry smiles, and closes his eyes, shifting in the water.

“Will you sleep with me?” Louis asks, insecurity throughout the sentence.

Harry frowns but doesn’t open his eyes. “Always.”

Louis breathes out a harsh breath. “Thanks.”

Harry just shakes his head and sits up, grabbing a towel and getting out. Louis averts his eyes, which—it’s not like they’ve not all seen one another.

Louis lets him put on pants and just pulls him into the bed, on top of the duvet. He presses their chests together, resting his forehead on Harry’s collarbone. "I love you, Haz," he says.

Harry smiles. They just look at one another for a long moment. Louis' fingers trace patterns up Harry's side, and he bites his lip.

Harry stares at the tattoo going across Louis' chest.  _It is what it is_ , he thinks, and--maybe this is as perfect a moment as he's going to get. He swallows and before he loses his nerve, stands up. "I'll be right back," he murmurs.

Louis reaches out, grabs Harry’s wrist. “Don’t leave,” he mumbles.

“Two seconds,” Harry promises, kissing Louis’ knuckles.

Louis lets go after a long moment, nodding and clinging to the pillow again.

Heart in his throat and racing, Harry gets up and goes to grab his laptop, plays the song. The opening chords start, and he waits.

When the words start, Louis sits up, staring at Harry. He’s not sure what his face looks like, but Louis must see something, because he looks like his entire world’s fallen apart and been rebuilt in a second.

The chorus starts, and Harry walks over to him, sitting on the edge of the bed. He doesn’t break eye contact.

Louis laces their fingers together. “Yeah?” he whispers, right as the chorus starts.

Harry nods, finally letting his eyes shut.

Louis kisses him then, softly and tentatively. He rests his hand on Harry’s waist, leaning in just a bit. Harry makes a noise that’s closer to a sob than a gasp, and kisses back, wrapping his arms around Louis’ neck.

Louis pushes Harry down, climbs on top of him and straddles his lips. _I’ll keep my eyes wide open_ , the voice from the computer sings, and Louis smiles.

“Me?” he asks.

Harry doesn’t answer; he kisses him instead, rocks his hips up and gets a shocked gasp out of Louis. He smiles, bites Louis’ lip. He’s already hard, _fuck_ , harder than he has been in a long time—and after just kissing, _jesus_. (He’s always been easy for Louis, though.)

“Fuck, I love you,” Louis breathes out, harsh.

Harry presses his smile against Louis’ neck. “Love you, too,” he says.

Louis laughs, sitting up and resting his hands on Harry’s chest, tweaking a nipple. “I got that from the,” and he nods his head at the computer, the song just ending. He swallows. “I’ll play you—I wrote—for you, too.”

Harry’s smile is so wide it hurts his fucking cheeks. “You wrote me a song?” he teases.

Louis rolls his eyes, but he can’t keep the fond smile off his face, can’t keep in the gasp when Harry rocks his hips up again. "Oh," he breathes out, palming Harry through his shorts. "Fuck, you're so hot."

Harry laughs and leans up, biting Louis' collarbone and closing his eyes. "You too," he breathes out. 

Louis bites one of Harry's nipples, not softly, and palms Harry again. He sits up to run his eyes down Harry’s body, biting his lip. “I’m going to blow you,” he says, looking at Harry. “That okay?”

Harry nods, quick. “Course,” he gasps out.

Louis pulls down his pants, quick. Harry’s cock gets impossibly harder, and he arches his back, fingers gripping the sheets.

Louis licks his lips and then at him, presses down at Harry’s hipbone to hold him still. “Stay,” he murmurs,” giving a wink, and licks at the head, soft little kitten licks that have Harry’s back arching again, though his hips stay still.

“Fuck,” he breathes out. He threads his fingers through Louis’ hair, holding but not pulling. “Oh, _oh_ ,” he stutters out when Louis sucks him into his mouth, goes down halfway and hums. “You’re—oh my god, you’re perfect, oh—” He swallows down another moan, turns his head to press his face into the sheets. He’s so close, on the edge already—and he doesn’t want to come yet but maybe this can be a thing that happens all the time, maybe they can be _together_ because Louis loves him and—

“Fuck, I’m gonna,” he gets out, teeth gritted. He tugs on Louis’ hair.

Louis moans, and that’s it, that’s all Harry can take—he comes hard enough that he shouts with it and flops back against the bed. He vaguely registers Louis pulling off, wiping at his mouth, making a series of gasping noises, but he’s too out of it, mind fuzzy.

Louis flops down next to him. “I love you, you sap,” he says. His voice is rough and cracked. Harry would get hard again if he could.

Harry smiles, reaches down to help Louis out but—“Did you come in your pants?” he asks, when he finds only a damp spot.

Louis shrugs, looking almost vulnerable. “I thought—I mean, this was just—I’d wanted to for a while, you know?”

Harry grins, and kisses him, soft and delicate. Louis licks into his mouth with a sigh.

“Love you,” Louis murmurs, fingers resting on Harry’s chest, right in the middle of the butterfly tattoo.

“Mmm,” Harry says. “Love you, too.”

 

(When he listens to _Strong_ , he cries. Louis calls him a great sap but Harry sings him _Don’t Let Me Go_ and Louis shakes his head, wiping at his eyes.

They’re perfect, the two of them. _Soulmates_ , Harry thinks.)


End file.
